If Things Were Different…
by sawelter
Summary: Ziio decides to contact Haytham so that he can meet his five-year-old son Ratonhnhaké:ton (a one shot).


Haytham's horse was steady as it trotted toward Lexington and toward Ziio, but his heart was anything but that. It was racing with no finish line in sight. The man had dueled skilled swordsmen and won, jumped off of towers into haystacks, and fought more than a dozen soldiers at once, but Ziio's news had made him nervous, a feeling he hadn't experienced often.

Haytham was a father.

Ziio had sent him news of it only a few weeks before, and it had been years since he'd heard from her before that. There was the night in the cave and then… they'd gone their separate ways. Ziio, back to her tribe, and Haytham, back to the Templars.

Not that Haytham hadn't thought about Ziio. Quite the opposite, actually. He did his best to forget about her, but often she would come to mind. He'd find himself comparing other women to her, and there had been many times when he considered contacting her, just so he could see her again. But he didn't know how, and Ziio was a difficult woman to find.

Haytham reached Lexington and jumped off his horse to meet Ziio. He looked at the slightly crumpled letter in his hand again. She said she would meet him at around noon outside the tavern. It was about noon, so Haytham headed over to the tavern and… there she was.

She was just as beautiful as he remembered her. Shining black hair, beautiful light brown skin, a spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks… When she caught sight of Haytham, she smiled. Haytham had forgotten just how much he missed that smile.

"Ziio," he said in his deep voice.

"Haytham," she replied politely.

Haytham wanted to embrace her or giver her a kiss, but that sort of thing was looked down upon in the colonies. Between different races, that is.

"So," Haytham said. "I have a son."

"Yes," Ziio says, her voice smooth. "His name is Ratonhnhaké:ton."

"Er…" She said it quickly enough that Haytham caught about half and he wasn't even going to bother trying to repeat it.

"You can call him Raton," she says. It sounded like _ra-doon._

"All right," Haytham said, with a quick nod. The two of them started walking, at first on the road and then leaving it to go across the uneven terrain towards Ziio's village. Haytham had never been there before, but he had always wanted to visit. Mostly because it was where Ziio lived. "How old is he now? He should be about five, yes?"

Ziio nodded. "Yes. He's quite a troublemaker. His friend Kanen'tó:kon is always having to talk the two of them out of trouble."

Haytham chuckled. "Sounds like my son."

They walked in silence for the remaining twenty minutes to the village, continually exchanging glances. Haytham would look at Ziio, and she would look at him, and then both would look away simultaneously.

Finally they reached the village. Ziio exchanged pleasantries with members of her tribe and introduced them to Haytham.

"This is Ratonhnhaké:ton's father," she would say to some of them in English, and in turn introduce them to Haytham. Other's she would speak to in her language and translate what Haytham said for them. Regardless of what language they spoke, all of them were friendly. Those that he didn't talk to were curiously watching the strange white man who was visiting from afar.

Ziio led Haytham to the section of the longhouse where she lived. There were a few people scattered about in the building, watching with interest as she looked around.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton?" she called. No response. "Ratonhnhaké:ton?"

She spoke briefly with her neighbor, asking where her son was. The neighbor replied and Ziio sighed, turning to Haytham. "He's out in the village with friends."

Haytham followed Ziio around the village, feeling incredibly out of place, as she spoke with various people inquiring after Raton. Finally, they found him, playing with friends near the edge of the river.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton," she scolded. "I told you your father was coming today." The rest of the children darted away, leaving the five-year-old boy standing there, hunched over, staring at the ground.

"Hen, ista," he muttered, kicking at the dirt.

"Don't be rude," she said, her voice softening a little bit. "Come say hello."

"Khwe," Raton said softly, his eyes trained on the ground. It was evident to Haytham that the boy didn't want to talk to him.

"Let me talk to him, Haytham," Ziio said quietly, gently resting her hand on Haytham's arm, before kneeling down in front of the shy Raton and speaking quietly with him in their language. She stood back up and the child finally looked up at Haytham.

He didn't look shy, not really, just stubborn and slightly disagreeable. "Hello," he said with a slight, but hardly noticeable, accent.

Haytham knelt down to be at eye-level with the boy. "Hello, I'm Haytham," he said, extending a hand to Raton to shake. The child just looked at it with a confused expression, until Haytham clarified, "You shake it. It's what you do when you meet someone."

Raton shook Haytham's hand. "I'm Ratonhnhaké:ton."

Haytham was a little bit uncomfortable. He hadn't spent a lot of time around children, hadn't really had the time for it… and now he was a father.

It was strange to think about. But Haytham could see himself in the boy, as much as he could see the boy's mother there. He smiled gently, gentler than he believed himself capable of. He talked with the child—his son—for a few minutes before straightening up and turning to Ziio, needing to go but hating that he had to.

"Invite me to visit again," he said. "I would like to see you both more often."

Ziio subtly slipped her hand into his. "I would like that, too."


End file.
